


A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love

by singagainsoon



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singagainsoon/pseuds/singagainsoon
Summary: “You’re terribly lucky, darling, that my father is away,” he says, voice low, smoothing his palm over Newton’s wind-tousled hair.





	A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckgaybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/gifts).



Hermann throws back his heavy curtains, shoves open the window, sticks his head out as far as he dares. It really is an exercise in bravery, or stupidity, perhaps, seeing that he is home alone and whomever was outside causing a ruckus may well intend to rob him blind. The air is sharp and clean, and it stings his nose. His eyes adjust to the darkness, to the starless night, to the shapes that materialize on the shadowed lawn, and he spots a figure. An intruder, a criminal, a vicious dissenter displeased no doubt with something his father had said and has come with murder on his mind. He hesitates momentarily, hovering in the space of the open window. He could grab for his cane, perhaps, though what protection it would offer from here, he cannot say. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” the figure yells up to him, and Hermann is all at once relieved and incensed. Standing on the grass, smiling cheekily in the chill of the early winter wind despite the heart attack he very nearly brought upon him, is Newton. The tapping he’d heard, then, must have been his beloved Dr. Geiszler’s doing. _Of course it was._ Even shrouded in shadows, his face obscured by the hood of his dark cloak, he still stands just-so, hips tilted to one side in a display of overdone confidence. Hermann’s stomach flips, though not unpleasantly this time.

“Newton, are you mad?” He calls, fighting to sound even vaguely cross with him. “What if my father was here? He’d have seen you long before I did. You can’t just- Good God, would you risk your reputation?  _ My _ reputation? Getting caught for-”

“I had to see you! I just couldn’t resist any longer. I’ve come to ask for your hand, Doctor Gottlieb, if you’ll have me,” he teases rather loudly, stooping as though to get on one bended knee right there on the wilting lawn. Hermann makes quite the show of rolling his eyes, but his heart leaps into his throat and knocks clumsily against the bulge of his adam’s apple.

If Hermann had neighbors, he would be terrified of them overhearing. If Hermann had any bit of sense left, he would shut the window and go to sleep. He feels the familiar heat of a pink blush creep onto his cheeks. “ _ Newton _ ! Why, I- If the choice were mine to make, I-”

“Are you gonna let me in, Herm, or leave me out to freeze? I could do with some warming up.” Newton takes a few steps forward, head lifted to the warm glow emanating from Hermann’s second-floor bedroom window, tempting him in a way that no one else can. He grins then, his precious, freckled face crinkling around the soft edges, leaving Hermann breathless and attempting to bite back a grin that tugs at him of its own accord. Beautiful, infuriating Newton- he could say as much, surely, but instead he shuts the window, grabs his cane, and hurries down the stairs to wrench the front door open. He welcomes Newton inside with the pretense of a polite smile, a demure inclination of his head, but his wide grin betrays him. 

Newton’s eyes gleam with mischief, and the instant the door clicks shut behind him, his hands are on Hermann’s angled face, fingers fitting around the delicate shell of Hermann’s ears and cradling him as though they were meant expressly for that purpose. Letting a man in his house at this late hour while he’s home alone: it sends a thrill down his spine and straight to the head of his cock. He feels himself flush beneath the ruffles of his blouse, the carefully buttoned layer of his waistcoat. The thought of watching Newton unbuttoning it, agonizingly slow, with his thick fingers makes him altogether quite glad that he had not already been in his nightshirt when Newton came calling. Hermann slides the hood from his face, pulls the clasp on his cloak and lets it fall unceremoniously to puddle on the floor. They will get it in the morning- or perhaps in the afternoon, or the next evening or two days from now when they finally manage to pull away from each other long enough to leave Hermann’s bed. 

“It’s good to see you,” Newton breathes. He is beautiful in every sense of the word, even more so than last they met, and Hermann never tires of staring at him, of marveling at him openly. Newt’s hands slip reluctantly from Hermann’s face to fuss with his cravat.

“You’re terribly lucky, darling, that my father is away,” he says, voice low, smoothing his palm over Newton’s wind-tousled hair. He tugs gently at the dark bow it is tied back with, combs his fingers through the silky brown waves that fall around his stocky shoulders. The corner of Newt’s lips pulls upwards in a lopsided smile that makes Hermann’s heart ache. Hermann trails his fingers down along Newt’s jaw to rub the scratchy stubble there. “Look at you! You’re growing quite the beard- positively rugged.”

“And you look as lovely as always.” 

Newton tugs Hermann forward by the ends of his undone cravat, tilts his head to catch Hermann, smiling wide, in a kiss. His lips are dry.

They barely make it up the stairs to Hermann’s bedroom. They pause on the landing to kiss again, Newton pressed hungrily between Hermann’s slim frame and the wall. He loses his coat somewhere along the way in a heap on the stairs, as Hermann loses his shoes, and when they stumble at last into the bedroom, Hermann immediately begins the task of wrestling Newton out of his loose, billowy shirt. Even in the dim light provided by the candles set precariously on the nightstand, he is colorful and bright beneath the stretch of fabric, tattoos swirling around his hips and dipping seductively below the waistband of his breeches. He still recalls vividly the first time he’d laid eyes on them in all their glory, the glimpses of them he caught sticking out from beneath Newton’s shirt, the time he spent trying to conjure them up every day after that. Hermann slides his hand down the slight swell of Newton’s stomach to hook his thumb in the tie that keeps his pants slung around his soft hips. He surges forward for another desperate kiss, a bit off-centered for lack of any recent good practice, and they fall heavily to the mattress in a tangle of lips and limbs and hammering hearts. When they break at last for air, noses brushing, foreheads resting together, all is right with the world. For once, love fills Hermann’s empty house.

“I’ve missed you fiercely,  _ mein Lieber _ ,” Hermann says against Newton’s hot, needy mouth, his velvet lips. Newton gives him a single firm, parting kiss as pulls away to kneel on the ground between Hermann’s thighs and gaze up at him through the fragile fan of his eyelashes. Hermann’s heart  _ thuds _ in his chest, rattling his ribcage. A bottomless hunger has opened up in the very pit of Hermann’s stomach, greedy wanting so strong that it hurts. Hermann thinks briefly that he might like to hurt this badly always. “The days have been so long without you.”

Newton unbuttons the very top button of Hermann’s new waistcoat as though he is a gift to be unwrapped, his fingers nimble and deft in spite of their trembling. The buttons, glinting in the light, pop open easily, and Hermann shrugs off the garment, feeling suddenly vulnerable beneath Newton’s watchful gaze. He looks at Hermann as though is all at once something fragile and precious, and a thing to be ravished. “You only managed to get more beautiful since the last time.”

“Seeing you is truly life’s greatest pleasure, dearest, and-” Newton’s hand skirts up the length of Hermann’s thigh, dangerously close to his stiff cock though not quite brushing it, and back down to his knobby knees. His erection gives a single throb where it is tucked against him. Hermann is trembling, quivering with arousal beneath Newton’s careful hands in a way that he’d once never thought possible. It feels almost shameful, to be so terribly excited so soon, though Newton hardly appears to mind. Newton deigns to palm him through his breeches, the cup of his hand warm and teasing. Hermann has missed this: the wanton grope of Newton’s hands, the sweetly genuine flattery that falls like rain from his mouth. His breath hitches in the hollow at the base of his throat, and Newton strokes his thumb along the hard ridge of flesh. A blessed wave of relief rolls through him. Hermann’s head snaps back nearly enough to give himself whiplash, and his hips press forward involuntarily. “ _ Ah _ , darling, I see we’re wasting no precious time.”

“Why should we? You’re the only thing I think about, Herm, you know that. You know that I dream about you, that I love you.” Newton spreads apart the ruffles that decorate Hermann’s shirt to nose lovingly at his throat. Hermann tugs at his hair, wraps an arm securely around him. They could stay like this, twisted in each other, and that would be a perfectly acceptable way for Hermann to spend the rest of his life. Newt all but wrenches the frills of his blouse open to slip his hands inside and run them hungrily along Hermann’s chest, over his ribs; the motion is aggressive and passionate and everything Hermann used to daydream of to pass the dull afternoons. Hermann thinks he hears the stitches tear, but it sounds far away, like something happening to someone else. Newton extracts himself from Hermann’s arms and crawls gingerly onto the mattress to lean down over him, one hand braced on either side of Hermann’s head. He cranes his neck to nip sharply at his thin bottom lip, pink and kiss-sore, looking vaguely wine-stained, and trails a messy line of kisses down to mouth sloppily at Hermann’s frantic fluttering pulse point. Newton’s mouth is wet and warm. He groans, an obscene little sound bubbling in the back of his exposed throat. Newt bites him again, and Hermann hand flies up to grip roughly at his hair.

“ _ Oh _ , Newton, my love, don’t-”

“We can cover it up,” Newt says, pausing to lick over the bite, to suck the sensitive skin there until he is satisfied that the spot will blossom into a pretty purple bruise before the night is over. Hermann’s cock aches against his thigh, gives a single, pitiful twitch. “I’ve seen all those silky little scarves you like.”

Hermann laughs, the choked-off sound caught somewhere between a moan and a giggle as Newton continues mapping his way down the pale expanse of his chest peeking from the ruffled remains of his shirt. His free hand wanders to grip a generous handful of Newton’s ass and squeeze. “You  _ brute _ .”

“I want to bring you something next time,” Newt pants, planting wet kisses to Hermann’s tense stomach. He stops abruptly, just above the heat that pools urgently between his spread thighs and makes his way back up to pepper Hermann’s angular jaw in a generous smattering of kisses. “Jewels or- or a coat- something pretty. You’d be beautiful in pearls, Hermann, or rubies. Next time I-”

“No, no, dear man, you’re-  _ mmm _ , the only thing I want.” Hermann traces his fingers along the top of Newton’s breeches, shimmying them down his hips until his tattoos disappear into the scratchy beginnings of the dark patch of hair above his cock. When they had first been in correspondence all those bleary years ago, Hermann only ever allowed himself the privilege of entertaining the far-off fantasy of being had by Newton very briefly. It felt too good of a thing for him then, a box not to be opened save for the most special of occasions. “And I  _ want  _ you,  _ liebling _ , more than anything.”

Newton grins devilishly and rocks his hips against Hermann’s, moans deep and throaty into the skin stretched over Hermann’s chest. The insistent shape of his erection strains the front of his indecently tight pants, rubs Hermann in a way that makes his toes curl in his stockings. “Do you, Hermann?”

He does, and Newton knows as much without having to tease, though it does not stop him. Hermann’s name is a rumble, a purr, the sweetest thing from Newton’s beloved lips; and ordinarily he might scoff at Newton’s valiant attempts to appear seductive, but every traitorous piece of him pulls him up into the curve of Newton’s body. He wraps one arm around Newton’s neck and kisses him, tongue and straight white teeth and all, as if to prove his most pressing point. Newton reaches between them to extract Hermann gracelessly from the confines of his pants, eyes searching him heavy with a lust that would make the most practiced of men blush scarlet. He raises an appreciative eyebrow at Hermann’s considerable length, at the way his tongue darts from his mouth to wet his parted lips.

“Do you - do you remember that night you came for supper, my love?”

Newton shimmies out of his own breeches with little ceremony, flings them carelessly over his shoulder, and settles easily between Hermann’s newly-bare, eagerly-parted thighs. He presses his cheek to Hermann’s skin, inhales deeply, affectionately as though he cannot manage to get enough of him. The fluttering thrill that fills his chest feels new, still, as though he is back in Newton’s arms for the first time, anxious and a bit frightened but terribly, irreparably in love. “And you ravished me in the library when your father retired for the evening? How could I forget?”

“I could hardly stand waiting that long, what with the looks you were giving me across the table all night-  _ Oh,  _ yes, that’s wonderful,” he mutters, carding his fingers through Newton’s candlelit tresses, keeping the hair from his face while he covers Hermann’s pale thigh in kisses.

Newton brushes his lips against the delicate bend of Hermann’s knee, the soft, tender spot just behind the jut of bone. Hermann lets loose a small, breaking cry, and his hips twitch upwards. He is not going to last long, if the pressure building steadily within him and the precome dripping onto his flat stomach is anything to judge by. “And you remember when you rode home with me that night it rained?”

“ _ Yes _ , Newton, yes, I remember.” 

Newton takes a firm, gentle hold of Hermann’s thighs and eases them up over his shoulders the way they’ve worked out to avoid causing Hermann’s hip any undue stress, ever the picture of gentlemanly concern even when his erection is pressed tightly between their bodies. Hermann twists his hand in the sheets when Newton pushes his hips up further, gingerly, exposing the tight pucker of his entrance. 

“You were all manners, weren’t you? Polite and so sweet until the door shut. Just the perfect gentleman.” He slots the shape of his profile gently in place, nudging up against Hermann’s balls with the slope of his nose. Newton swipes his tongue once across the ring of muscle, slow and dragging; and the plaintive whine that he utters sounds foreign even to Hermann’s own ears. Hermann bites down on his bottom lip, his heel digging hard into Newton’s back as he licks at him gingerly. It is nearly more than Hermann can bear - Newton’s breath warm against his hole, the cautious prod of his flicking tongue. “Tell me you remember, honey.”

Hermann’s back arches up off the mattress, hips canting skyward in a desperate grasp for any sort of relief, and he fights the white-hot urge to stroke himself. Newton’s thumb rubs circles into the angular jut of his writhing hip, his tongue working relentlessly at his hole. It is almost too good, too much, after having been apart from him so long. Newton pulls back enough to lookup at Hermann, expectantly, from between his far-spread legs. “I remember, Newt, of  _ course _ I do- _ Oh,  _ oh, please! Please just touch me, darling, I can’t-”

Newton’s face borders on pinched, on something that might have been a vague sort of pain had it not been for the fact that Hermann feels Newton’s building pleasure as surely as though it is his own. It is then that Hermann notices Newton has been working himself slowly, edging. He abandons his own flushed leaking cock in favor of adjusting himself to fit his hips into Hermann’s, to take the both of them mercifully in his come-slick hand. Any passionate declaration of love that might have been sitting on Hermann’s tongue devolves quickly into a stream of whimpers and moans. He ruts, rhythmless, into Newton’s hand, against his length, relishing in the friction that sends sparks through his body. Hermann croons softly, jerks clumsily beneath the man he loves.

“I’ve got you, Hermann, it’s alright,” Newton babbles, sighing, sliding his hand over them both, smearing dribbling precome. The muscles in his arm flex and ripple beneath the splay of his tattoos; Hermann finds himself transfixed, enraptured. His breathing picks up pace, not-quite  in time with the steady pumping of Newton’s hand but close enough. He flicks his wrist the way Hermann loves, moans when Hermann whines and fucks harder into his grip. “Run away with me.”

Hermann pauses briefly, hips coming to a mid-thrust halt. In the flickering candlelight, shadows waltz across Newton’s cheeks, his nose. “What?”

“Run away with me, Herm,” Newton mutters, still pumping his hand up and down their lengths. If he is at all sincere about this, Hermann cannot possibly be certain, though he would love to believe that is. Hermann cannot keep still for long in the face of near-maddening pleasure and finds himself rolling into Newton in spite of himself. “It’ll be- oh,  _ oh,  _ God- just the two of us, you and I, and we’ll get to be together every  _ night _ .” His voice lilts ever upwards, straining, and it makes Hermann throb in his hand. The whole thing is so terribly romantic, sweet and far-off like a favorite song.

“Yes, my love, I’ll-  _ Newt-  _ Oh,  _ bitte, _ Newton, you- you’re wonderful, just  _ wonderful _ ,” he manages, screwing his eyes shut tight against the fireworks that begin to explode in all directions behind them. A strangled cry escapes him, pulled from somewhere between his lungs. Hermann’s slender body quivers, pulled tight like a bowstring and feeling like it no longer belongs to him but to Newton. His nerves are on fire, though if he burns away like this, it will have been nothing but worth it. “Yes, yes, that’s it.”

“I love you,” Newton breathes, hunching forward to bury his face in the hollow between Hermann’s delicate throat and his shoulder. “I love you, Hermann.”

It is so good to hear the words aloud, to say them himself; that alone nudges Hermann ever-closer to the proverbial edge, teetering. “And I love you so terribly- Ah, I’m  _ close _ . I’m- there, yes.”

He works his hand faster, trembling against Hermann’s prone body, and rubs his thumb along the heads of their cocks. Newton comes first, hard and sudden and hot in great spurts over his hand and Hermann’s stomach and his blouse. It is the way he shouts Hermann’s name, the way the sound of it breaks in the middle, that pushes Hermann over the edge. He shakes, hips stuttering and dick twitching as the warm waves of pleasure roll through every atom in his body. Newton jerks them feebly through the aftershocks until Hermann composes himself enough to swat Newton’s hand from between his legs and instead turn to tuck his figure neatly against his side. They fit, he thinks then, two strangle little pieces of the same messy puzzle.

They lay still until long after the candles go out, Hermann counting Newton’s breaths, his gentle, resting heartbeat. He is not certain when he falls asleep, but when he rouses in the pale winter morning, Newton’s head is still pillowed on his chest. His hair, even mussed as it is, catches the sun like a halo, like an oil painting to be displayed in a gallery. The expensive bedclothes are rumpled and bunched around them where they are curled into each other in the center of the mattress. Hermann is still in his stockings, he realizes, brushing his gangly legs against Newton’s own bare ones when he makes himself more comfortable. They are likely ruined, splashed with the remnants of both Newton’s release and his own much like his shirt surely is, though hazed with sleep, he finds it incredibly difficult to care too much. 

Perhaps he will wrap Newton in his dressing gown, pull on his nightshirt, wander downstairs to the kitchen and fix them both something to eat. Perhaps they will pause again on the stairs to kiss, to twine their fingers together in the sharing of some private little  _ good morning _ . “Perhaps” seems infinite just then.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i love maria's regency au its the only thing i think about tbh. as always, find me on twitter @kaijubf !!!!!!!


End file.
